


Reflection

by Ladywolfsbane



Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladywolfsbane/pseuds/Ladywolfsbane
Summary: "Female serial killers are not particularly common, you know."In which Hannibal Lecter, psychiatrist, pays a visit to serial killer Clarice Starling for his study into female murderers.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter & Clarice Starling, Hannibal Lecter/Clarice Starling
Comments: 5
Kudos: 88





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> I love a good role reversal AU. I know this has been done a few times with these two before, but I wanted to try my hand at it. I'm also newer to these characters and fandom, so apologies for any weird characterization or anything like that.
> 
> This is also a weird smoosh of characterizations, plot, and influences from the book and movie. Fic takes place in the 1990s like the movie.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this thing!

"Female serial killers are not particularly common, you know." This was said by Chilton with a sort of self-satisfied smugness, the corner of his mouth turned up.

  
Hannibal did not like it. The other man seemed to ooze self-satisfaction from his pores. It was one thing to be confident when it was earned, but quite another when it so clearly was not. Based on the short interaction he'd had with the asylum administrator, he did not think it was earned.

  
"Yes, I know. They are largely uncommon, and even when female serial killers do occur, they are often 'angels of death,' black widows, or are variously financially motivated. Typically, their methods are hands-off -- poisonings and such."

  
Chilton's mouth twitched and he swallowed. "Hm. Yes," he said, tapping a pen on his desk, "I suppose you would know a lot about that, wouldn't you? I can see why you are interested in our local specimen."

  
_Specimen._

  
The clinical, scientific nature of that word belied the clear fact that Chilton viewed his charge as a prized possession -- something in a jar to be removed from the shelf and admired when one desired. Or a fierce lioness behind bars who could do nothing but jump and claw at the bars while the greasy onlooker laughed.

  
"Starling is of particular interest to me precisely because her murders were not hands-off or money motivated. As she has earlier claimed, her actions were in the defense of others," Hannibal said, his tone level, not reacting to his distaste towards Chilton's attitude towards the aforementioned woman.

  
Once they were actually speaking of Starling rather than circling around the subject, a glint shone in Chilton's eyes. "She is unique in many ways. I assume you've seen pictures of her?"

  
 _This is going to predictably veer into a licentious direction, isn't it?_ Hannibal thought. "Yes, I have."

  
"Ah, then you know how beautiful she is. Not stunning, but she has considerable rural charm. The kind of woman you wouldn't mind picking up at a bar and seeing more than once, though, of course, you might not live to see a second time." That self-satisfied sneer was back on Chilton's face, the edge of his lip drifting up to reveal the tip of one canine tooth as if imagining sinking it into a desirable meal. 

  
"Mmm. Yes, I suppose certain unrefined individuals would allow their to thoughts tend to such fantasies, but professionals in mental health treatment would keep those baser instincts in check, I think." No smile crossed Hannibal's lips and his voice remained as neutral as ever, but he saw Chilton seem to shrink and curl into himself like a creeping pill bug. 

  
"Of course. Well, I'm sure you're tired of small talk. You'll be wanting to see Starling now, Dr. Lecter?"

  
This time, Hannibal smiled for the first time during the meeting. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

* * *

  
The scent of human fear and despair hung thick in the underground dungeon, twining and twisting together to create a malodorous perfume. There were times that Hannibal wished he did not have such an acute sense of smell.

  
Rank scents nudged at his neurons, whispering and urging him to remember a time long ago when those same smells were just as strong but were present in a long-ago winter, not a basement--

  
Hannibal quickly slammed shut and locked that door of thought.

  
He passed by the cages with their various occupants. There, one figure in off-white, dirty clothes hunched in a corner. Here, one lunged at the bars. He gazed at each dispassionately.

  
Finally, he reached the end of the dim corridor. A woman sat on the small cot against the wall and raised her head when the tap of his shoes stopped in front of her cell.

  
"Hello," the woman -- Starling, he knew -- said. The first word she spoke was coated with West Virginia -- that distinctive, soft slant of words that seemed to be blown to the side by the wind.

  
Her face was framed with dark hair and wide eyes stared at him from a pale face that had been long denied the caress of sunlight. She reminded him of a forest creature (a deer, perhaps,) that one may glimpse only momentarily, as in a moment from a dream.

  
"Good morning, Ms. Starling," he said, inclining his head. "Do you mind if I take a seat?" He nodded at the metal folding chair that sat in front of the bars.

  
She raised an eyebrow. "I figure you can pretty well do what you want here, Doctor. Wouldn't you say?"

  
It seemed that she wasn't feeling particularly friendly. He supposed that he wouldn't either if he was trapped in a small cage. "I'm merely trying to be courteous. I apologize if you found it irritating."

  
She snorted and shook her head, dark hair falling over her face like a curtain. "Shit, Doctor, if I knew I was gonna have a gentleman over for the mornin' I woulda got out my nice silverware." 

  
The accent was thicker now. He wondered if that was intentional or not.

  
Hannibal sat despite the snide comment. "Have you been told the reason for my visit?"

  
"Yeah." Starling leaned back against the wall, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "You're a shrink that wants to root around in my head to find out the reason I killed those folks."

  
He wouldn't take the notebook out, then. He didn't want her immediately thinking of him as another person wanting to cut into her for dissection. "Yes, I do want to understand you, but--"

  
"C'mon, I know you're just writing a book, or a paper, or whatever it is you people do." A dismissive hand was waved.

  
The more gentle approach didn't seem to be working. Some more difficult clients respected a challenge more than the mere neutrality and distance he was displaying at the moment. 

  
"I will not insult you by lying, Clarice," he said, dropping formalities, becoming more familiar. "You're right, I'm writing a study on female serial killers. I've talked to a meek little white-haired grandmother who poisoned her boarding house guests to steal their valuables, I've interviewed a woman who killed her four husbands for their life insurance, and I have spoken to a woman who hitchhiked, using her good looks to lure in unassuming men before killing them, again, for cash. Their methods were different, but their motives were essentially the same: greed and money. Tedious, basic. But then I heard of the killer Clarice Starling."

  
He paused looked up at her to observe her. Her eyes were narrowed and pinched, his reflection held in the depths of her gaze.

  
She did not blink, did not waver in her focus on him.

  
"Here was a serial murderer who claimed to have killed in the defense of others. The first one was a young man killed in a filthy motel room. 'I killed him to spare a young underage woman of abuse,' Starling said. And I thought, 'Ah, now, here is someone unique in the world. I want to understand her mind.'

"But now, I feel disappointed. All I see is a resentful young woman. Resentful of being born white trash and poor, maybe to neglectful parents, or she maybe lost her parents. Who knows. And these things made her angry at the world, so the only way to knew how to soothe that white-hot rage was to sate herself with blood. Tedious, very tedious. Not so unique."

  
After all that, he expected to see some reaction. A clench in her jaw, a twitch under her eye. But she just stared at him as before. In that moment, he thought he understood what it was like to be stalked and observed by a lion in the grass. 

  
"Do you want to know what I see, Doctor?" Starling raised her head.

  
Hannibal spread his hands. "Enlighten me."

  
"I see a guy who thinks he's really smart. And he is. But his whole persona has been built up brick by brick over the years. For example, that accent? What is it? Doesn't quite sound American. Did they send you off to diction classes when you became a psychiatrist so you'd get one of those old Hollywood sounding accents? Or did you work hard to cover up your accent of wherever you came from?" She tilted her head to the side. 

  
"And all that politeness. That...unflappability. Underneath all that, I think there's a real scared kid who wanted to make himself up to be someone who would be respected, maybe even a little feared. Who you base that on, your dad? Did you lose your dad?"

  
That rank smell was back in his nostrils again, pressing against his olfactory senses. Underneath his suit jacket, the hairs on his arms prickled as if to protect himself from cold. 

  
"Something tells me it wasn't a peaceful death for your dad. You're from the WWII generation, right? You would've been a kid then. I think you might be from Europe, with that nondescript accent."

  
Why didn't he say anything? He could stop her--

  
"Your dad probably died violently. Things were bad then. Maybe you even lost some siblings. A brother, a sister--"

  
At that, he lost track of what she was saying. Winter wind howled beneath the locked door in his mind. He was back in the winter of the war, a thin child shivering.

  
_A deer with a rope around its neck cries out, rolls its eyes back into its skull as it strains in vain against its captors._

  
_They do not take him. He is thin prey. He would not provide enough meat._

  
_The wolves target the weakest and most nourishing among the herd, as is their wont._

_They take his sister. Mischa._

  
Instead, he was the one to react and flinch away, the one to clench his jaw and break eye contact. Once he slipped the mask back on, shut that dreadful mental door, and looked back up at Starling, she was smiling.

  
Never had any other patient or interview subject slid beneath his skin in that manner.

  
"Did I get close?" 

  
"You are a very observant person. Perhaps I misjudged you; I'm sorry for doing so." He folded his hands in his lap.

  
Clarice scooted to the end of her cot. "That wasn't a yes or a no."

  
Now was the time to make a calculation. Could he reveal a horrible thing to her that no one else knew, albeit in a vague and obtuse way? 

  
Hannibal always considered himself a respectful, courteous individual. It was a point of pride. As she had so clearly pointed out, it was something instilled in him from a young age, particularly by his father.

  
If he wanted her to talk to him, he needed to show trust. He needed to show that he was not like Chilton, who just wanted to shake the jar and watch his wasp buzz angrily, nor was he like every other intellectual just trying to pick apart her mind. He wanted to know the person.

  
"You are right, Clarice."

  
Something softened slightly in her gaze then. Her eyes did not contain the glimmer of such mockery as they had before.

  
"Not hard for one scared kid to recognize another."

It seemed she, too, had decided to make the calculation of trust.

  
"Will you talk to me now? If not, I will leave and not bother you again. I'm certain you get enough unwanted male company." He glanced towards the end of the hall where the stairs were, indicating Chilton's office upstairs.

  
"No, no. You can stay. So far, you're much more tolerable than the Doc upstairs."

  
Hannibal chucked. "Odious man, isn't he?"

  
"Odorous _and_ odious, Dr. Lecter."

Together, then, they laughed. 


End file.
